Captured
by kci47
Summary: Miss Hermione Granger embarks on a new chapter in her life, traveling across the Atlantic to meet her fiance. But then everything goes haywire with the arrival of one very dark, ruthless individual. " 'You're a pirate,' she breathed, excitement mingling equally with trepidation." / Regency-ish era AU, non-Hogwarts, piratical SS/HG romance.
1. Chapter 1

A crisp sea breeze blew the ringlets back from Hermione's face as she stood on the deck of the ship, waving stoically at those gathered on the docks to see them off. Her mother had been too distraught to stay and as this whole expedition had been her father's idea, he hadn't wasted any time on "foolish, sentimental gestures." So she waved at the children in the crowd instead, determined not to cry as her beloved homeland slipped further and further away from her.

Miss Hermione Granger was not a crier.

She remained on deck long after most of the other passengers, waiting until the shoreline was a mere speck in the distance. Only then did she return to her cabin, stopping to check on her companion as she did so. Miss Lavender Brown was a silly thing, and though Hermione wasn't enamored with the girl, she nevertheless felt a bit of sympathy for Lavender's seasickness. Hermione refreshed her companion's cool cloths and promised to check back later, then she escaped the tiny space and its odious stench. She repressed a snort when she realized that she'd become Lavender's companion rather than the other way around. She had argued with her father over having a companion in the first place—after all, she was on her way to meet her betrothed; what trouble could she truly get into on a ship? The entire voyage to the Americas was only slated to take two months, less if the winds were favorable. Her greatest concern was not that she would be ruined for marriage, but that her mind would become ruined from inactivity during the journey.

Sighing as she dug in her small trunk for something to read, Hermione wondered what her parents were doing at this very moment. Most likely her mother had taken to her bed, and her father had excused himself to his horticultural society club. She loved them both dearly, but her father—well, he had never quite known what to do with a daughter, particularly not one that actually wished to use her brain for intellectual pursuits rather than pursuit of the latest fashions. He loved her, of course he did; but marrying her off to a well-to-do tradesman in America was hardly the course she would have chosen for herself. And her father really ought to have known better.

She uncovered her stash of books in the bottom of her trunk and scanned the titles, trying to decide which would help soothe her most. But it was no use. Hermione realized that even if she did pick out a book, she wouldn't be able to settle down, not tonight. And besides—she'd packed her trunk with as many books as possible, but they wouldn't last the whole voyage if she didn't ration her reading. The thought made her heart constrict moreso even than leaving England. Limited reading material—yet another sin to lay at her father's feet.

Despite the lateness of the hour, Hermione decided to head aboveboard and take in some air. Perhaps a walk around the deck would help to calm her anxiety so she might sleep. She wrapped another shawl around her shoulders in case it was cool, then made her way to the stairs. As soon as she neared the deck, the fresh sea air reached her nose and she felt herself relax. Stepping fully onto the upper deck, Hermione paced over to the railing, looking out at the endless expanse of dark blue ocean. In the twilight, she could almost imagine they were flying, so seamless was the transition from air to water. The only difference was the way the wind whipped up the surface of the water.

She inhaled deeply, letting the sounds and smells wash over her. Oddly enough, she felt very much at home on the ship's deck as the massive vessel sliced through the night. All thoughts of a walk abandoned, Hermione rested her elbows on the rail and simply imagined that the ship was taking her somewhere exotic, somewhere of her own choosing. Anywhere, really, aside from where she was actually headed.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed, but eventually she noted a change in her surroundings. The wind whipped harder at her hair and dress, the boat bobbed up and down more drastically, and the air began to smell of oncoming rain. In fact—yes, there it was again—she watched as lightning split the sky off in the distance. A storm was headed their way, but instead of feeling frightened, Hermione felt as though the very elements were coursing through her veins. As the wind continued to pick up and the lightning grew more frequent, extreme anticipation stole over her. She felt jittery and powerful at the same time. It was most peculiar.

Intellectually, she was busy cataloging all of her body's reactions. Emotionally, however, she just knew that she felt _alive _and capable of anything in this moment, and she quieted her academic thoughts as she tried to just experience the thrill. When lightning struck again nearby and she heard the loud _boom _accompanying it, she laughed with sheer joy. She was so caught up in the feral beauty of the storm that she didn't immediately register the dangerous rocking of the boat.

"Ma'am!" A deckhand grabbed her arm, pulling her attention back. "You need t'get below. Captain's orders!"

"Thank you. I will in just a moment." She started to turn away but the boy grabbed her again, this time shaking her arm insistently.

"You don' understand! We've been hit! You have'ta get to your cabin!"

"What?" Hermione's eyes darted back out to sea, searching for a rocky outcropping or some other obstacle, but she saw nothing. "What do you mean, hit?"

"They only barely caught us, but we're no match for 'em, speedwise. They'll fire again if they catch up—better get away from the deck!"

"They _who_?!" Hermione demanded, but the boy was gone, running off to help secure the sails. She saw a group of men standing on the other side of the boat, so she hurried over, hoping to discover just what was going on. When she reached them, they were all gazing over the side of the ship, so Hermione leaned over the railing and looked as well. What she saw made her feel sick. A hole the size of her head now graced the once-pristine planking, and while it wasn't beneath the waves, there was still a fair amount of water making its way in. Her exhilaration turned quickly to dread.

"Excuse me!" Hermione called to the men. "What happened? Who hit us?"

But before anyone could answer, another loud blast sounded—Hermione now realized she had mistaken the first one for thunder—and in the next second, another hole appeared in the ship's side. Hermione grabbed onto the railing with all her strength to avoid being thrown back. As the shocks receded, Hermione straightened and stared at the vessel now approaching them, her eyes wide. And she answered her own question.

"_Pirates_."

* * *

**A/N: This is sort of inspired by the opening of Pirates of the Caribbean, when the weather changes and the pirates arrive. And also partly inspired by my love of standing outside when a storm is brewing! I don't really know how long this will end up but I hope you enjoy regardless. I always love a good historical fiction/pirate romance! **

**As ever, I am not JK Rowling nor any one of the creators of PotC. **


	2. Chapter 2

"Bloody hell! That one was a damn sight more accurate, hm?" one of her companions exclaimed as they all leaned over the railing to check the damage again.

Hermione's heart began to race as the sinister-looking ship sped closer. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the furling black sails. "What's going to happen to us? Surely they wouldn't board one of His Majesty's fleet?"

One of the men glanced over at her, apparently just now realizing there was a lady amongst them. "Er, begging your pardon, miss, but you'd best get belowstairs with the others!" He started to take her arm, but Hermione yanked it free.

"No! Shouldn't we be doing something? Fighting back? Hiding the valuables?" When all six pairs of eyes turned on her, bewildered, Hermione stomped her foot. "There must be _some _action we can take! They cannot simply just shoot us and—and—plunder everything!"

She heard her voice reaching its hysterical pitch, but she couldn't stop herself. Despite the delicate way ladies were treated in society, she _had _managed to read some books and hear some stories about pirates and their activities—and she knew what her likely fate was should she be captured. She—and Lavender, and the other women aboard—would become spoils. Nothing more than a bit of treasure, really. And then she could forget a comfortable life with her civilized husband. No, she wouldn't allow it. Even if Mr. Harold James Potter was not the husband she would have chosen for herself, he was nevertheless a gentleman, and she was going to the match reluctantly but willingly. She would not let her course be derailed by a bunch of rowdy seamen who thought themselves above the law.

At that moment, their captain strode up, breaking her train of thought. Captain Rubeus Hagrid was a big man, with a weather-roughened face and gruff manner of speaking. Still, she rather liked him. He was gentle and competent, at least in her view, and so she turned to plead her case with him.

"Miss Granger, why are ye not below wi' the other women? They be gathered in me quarters. Best ta get yerself—"

"Captain," Hermione interrupted. "Isn't there something I can do to help? Perhaps load some muskets or gather the knives or—"

"Oh, goodness me, no! Miss Granger, ye _must _hide yerself. I've had dealin's with the likes of them afore and they don' take no prisoners."

"NO!" Hermione shouted, exasperated. "I refuse to cower in the hold like a silly debutante! They shall take me fighting or not at all!"

Captain Hagrid and the other men exchanged glances, then the captain shrugged. "A'right. Reckon yer old enough to make yer own decisions. The women need barricadin', if yer don' mind tellin' 'em what to do; then ye can help the boys down in the gun deck. Jus' try not to get in the way."

Hermione nodded and rushed off to help the women, grateful she wasn't being forced into hiding with them. Bursting into the captain's quarters, she quickly scanned the room for Miss Brown—but her companion was nowhere to be seen. _Damn_, she thought to herself, feeling very bold for cursing even if it was only internally. Well, there was no help for it—she barked out some orders, helping the others identify the heaviest pieces of furniture that weren't nailed down, then instructed them to arm themselves with whatever they could find. Feeling her time ticking away, she rushed out again, racing down to the level with Lavender's quarters. As she feared, Lavender was in no shape to go anywhere, so Hermione set to work pushing her trunk and chair over to the door. She would just have to stay here and protect her fragile companion.

"What are you doing?" Lavender mumbled from her spot under the blankets.

"Nothing to concern yourself with," Hermione grunted as she shoved the trunk against the door. Just then another blast shook the boat, and the new sound of rifles being fired reached their ears. Lavender bolted upright and looked at Hermione with frightened eyes.

"What was that? Are we under attack?"

"Well, yes. Pirates, apparently," Hermione admitted, her attention more focused on wedging a chair beneath the door handle than on her companion's sensibilities.

Lavender's shriek caught her attention, however, and Hermione turned to find the ridiculous girl trying to get out of bed.

"Miss Brown. Please stay put. We don't need you getting sick everywhere." Hermione rolled her eyes as Lavender began to stuff all of her trinkets and handkerchiefs into her bodice.

Lavender simply continued screaming at regular intervals as she raced around the room, gathering up her belongings.

"Miss Brown! Please, calm yourself! We are barricading ourselves in this room, and if they want to accost us, they will have to get through me first!" Hermione emphasized her point by lifting her skirts and removing the pair of pistols strapped to her thighs.

"Are those REAL?!" Lavender squealed, backing away from Hermione and looking frantic.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Hermione grumbled, checking the pistols and setting them on the table, ready for action. "Save me from insipid women," she mumbled to no one in particular.

Thankfully, Lavender seemed so taken aback by the firearms that she remained firmly in her corner of the room. Hermione added a small stool and a crate to the pile against the door, then began collecting items they could use as weapons such as the washbasin, Lavender's silver hairbrush, and her companion's feather pillow for good measure. She could always rip it open and use the feathers as a diversion. Hermione was nothing if not resourceful.

Their room protected as best as could be under the circumstances, Hermione had nothing else to do now but wait and fret. There had been no further cannon blasts but the gunfire was still steady and it was impossible to discern what was being shouted on the deck. Lavender was sniffling softly in her corner.

After what seemed like an eternity, footsteps thundered down the stairs and Hermione's muscles tensed. Shouts could be heard further down the passageway but the exact words were indistinct. She gestured for Lavender to hide herself under her bed, and thankfully the girl complied. "Stay _quiet_," Hermione hissed at her, "and perhaps they won't find you!" She had little hope that Lavender would be able to remain silent, but there was little else she could do.

Then someone tried to open the door, without luck. The handle rattled as the person—or pirate—on the other side attempted to break in, but Hermione's trunk-and-chair combination was holding—for now. Lavender whimpered from under the bed and Hermione quickly yanked the bedcover over the side to help muffle the sound. The door shuddered with a sudden impact. Hermione now suspected it was pirates on the other side—any of her ship's crew would surely have announced themselves.

She picked up her pistols and trained them on the door, not knowing if she would actually be capable of shooting whoever broke through. Still, she was pleased to note that her hands were steady, and she felt a cool sense of purpose fill her. She would _not _submit to a lowly pirate without a fight.

Just then, the door gave way under the weight of its attacker, and Hermione was dismayed to see an entire cadre of pirates start pouring into the small cabin. She only had two bullets and there were at least seven of them in the hall with more coming behind them. She looked at the one in front—he had bright blue eyes and even brighter red hair—and fell back on her last resort.

"Parlay!"

* * *

**A/N: The parlay bit is again borrowed from Pirates of the Caribbean. I just love picturing Regency-era Hermione being prepared for anything and educated well beyond what anyone would expect (or perhaps prefer)! :) I should add that I have no beta for this story because the inspiration has hit and I am just running with it. Still not JKR. **


	3. Chapter 3

"Oh, bloody 'ell, 'ere we go again with the parlay. That's the third time this month," the redhead groused. One of his mates sighed and tucked his dagger back into his belt. Hermione remained frozen to the spot, amazed that her trick seemed to have bought her some time.

"Well? You coming then?" the redhead asked impatiently.

"Er. Yes. You _are _taking me to your captain, aren't you, as dictated by—"

"Pirate code of conduct, right right, we got it," the pirate grumbled. He reached out and easily took her pistols from her. "I'll just be keeping these if you don't mind."

"I do mind, actually. They were a gift from—oh!"

Apparently tired of waiting, the redheaded pirate grabbed her arm and towed her out of the room. As she neared the door, she said loudly, "I certainly hope you will extend the same courtesy to _anyone else who might invoke the right of PAR-LAY_," exaggerating the pronunciation so Lavender might get it right if she needed it. Hermione only hoped the silly girl had the sense to stay hidden until the pirates were gone, and then find some of the crew and get herself off the ship. Surely, after three cannon blasts, _The Stoutheart _was no longer seaworthy?

But that was no longer her problem. Her pirate, as she had come to think of the redhead, was hauling her none-too-gently up the stairs, his mates presumably continuing to search the rest of the boat. "Ow!" Hermione said indignantly as she tripped up the last step onto the deck. Her pirate barely slowed, however. Hermione tried to catch a glimpse of Captain Hagrid or someone else who could help her, but in the darkness of night and with smoke all around it was impossible. In no time at all, they'd reached the ship's rail, and her pirate hoisted her up and dumped her unceremoniously into a rowboat. "How dare you mistreat me so? I am going to tell your captain—mmpfh!"

He jammed a piece of smelly cloth into her mouth and tied it behind her head. Before she could prevent it, he'd also grabbed her wrists and tied them behind her back. Hermione levelled her darkest glare at him as he settled himself and began to row them across the water to the pirate vessel. Was it her imagination or did he actually look a bit sheepish? She amped up the force of her angry gaze, narrowing her eyes and trying to convey her extreme annoyance at his treatment of her. Yes, sheepish indeed—now he wouldn't even look at her. _Good_. Her foot shot out and she kicked his shin as hard as she could.

"Oy!" he cried, dropping an oar handle to rub his leg. "That really hurt!"

_Stop being such a baby_, she tried to say, but it just sounded like muffled moaning. She tried to kick him again, but this time he was ready for her. He grabbed her foot, yanked her closer to him, and tied her ankles swiftly with a bit of rope. He returned to his oars and Hermione was left to contemplate her dire situation while lying on the floor of the boat. She was well and truly trussed. The realization brought with it a healthy dose of fear at last—the pirates could do what they wanted with her and she was helpless to resist. Her adrenaline faded swiftly, replaced with worry and doubt. Should she have just shot him when he'd first entered the room and tried to brazen her way out past the others? Maybe she should have hidden her pistols and seen what the pirates intended to do, first, before making her move.

Hermione tried to sigh but couldn't do it properly with the gag in her mouth. At least now some irritation was making its way back in amongst the fear. _Bloody pirates_, she thought. Had their passenger ship even been carrying anything of value? She didn't think so. Some food rations, yes; perhaps even some bolts of cloth and other goods for sale in Boston but certainly nothing of real value. When she met the pirate captain, she intended to find out.

A few moments later their boat bumped against the larger ship's hull, and ropes were tossed down to the redheaded pirate. He secured them to both ends of the rowboat, being careful to remain out of reach of Hermione, and then they were being lifted to the deck. Hermione breathed as deeply as she could considering the gag, trying to calm her nerves before she met the man who held her fate in his hands. Once they were up, her pirate leapt from the boat and directed two others to "deal with the little piece of baggage." Apparently she'd struck enough fear into him that he didn't want to haul her out himself.

The four of them made their way up to the highest deck where a tallish man with a long, dark ponytail was issuing orders and scanning _The Stoutheart _with a telescope. His lean frame was accentuated by his all-black garb; from the shiny buckles of his boots all the way to the stiff collar of his shirt, everything was black. Her pirate cleared his throat and when the captain turned to face them, Hermione noticed that even his eyes appeared black. She couldn't repress a shudder at the imposing image he presented.

"What is it, Weasley?" he snapped, and Hermione's heart stuttered at the depth of his voice. It was at once menacing and enticing, as though its possessor promised the most seductive descent into a darkness she could only hope to imagine. But that was madness—he was her captor, and a pirate, and he had the largest nose she had ever witnessed on a person before. There was nothing at all _enticing _to be had. She squared her shoulders and lifted her head, trying to look down her (smaller) nose at him even though she was quite a bit shorter.

Her redhead, evidently named Weasley, coughed before answering, shuffling his feet as he did so. "She called parlay," he offered, rather lamely in Hermione's opinion. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It seemed his bravado had fled in the face of this dark and daunting man, and Hermione supposed she couldn't blame him. The pirate captain certainly knew how to make an impact.

Then his eyes locked with hers, and Hermione had to revise her opinion. The man didn't know how to make an impact; he _was _an impact. Enticing didn't even begin to describe what she felt as those bold black eyes raked over her body once, twice, again; when they finally landed back on her face she knew her cheeks were aflame. _Let him look_, she told herself. _I'll die before I submit to him_. She kept her shoulders taut and her head tilted as he completed his perusal. She would not show cowardice. She knew instinctively that the captain sought to induce fear in others—well, he would have his work cut out for him with _her_. She only wished he'd remove the gag so that she might tell him how very much she despised him.

"Take her to the brig," he intoned, dismissing their entire party and returning his attention to her ship, which she could now see was aflame in several places. The fires reflected on the captain's face, lighting his features with an eerie glow. Weasley gestured for her guards to remove her from the deck but she shook her head and screamed as loud as she could with the gag on.

The captain slid a glance over his shoulder at her. "I shall deal with you later," he stated slowly, as though he was speaking to a petulant child. Hermione glared at him and shook her head again. One corner of his lips quirked up and in the blaze from the fire he actually looked rather... No. She would not even entertain the thought. As her guards grabbed her elbows and dragged her across the deck, she continued to glare at the captain. He tracked their progress with those fathomless eyes, and Hermione vowed to make her stay on board as miserable as possible for the pirates.

Once they were nearly at the ladder, he called out, "Oh, and welcome to _The Black Asphodel_, my dear. Captain Severus Snape at your service."

* * *

**A/N: I think I might attempt to end every chapter with someone making a proclamation. Yes? No? **


	4. Chapter 4

An hour later, Hermione was furiously pacing the dingy hold where they'd unceremoniously chucked her, Weasley's parting "We're well shot of her, mates" ringing in her ears. She was clearly in the ship's deepest level, although they hadn't actually put her in the cell with the metal bars so she supposed she ought to be thankful. The crew also hadn't left a guard, choosing instead to lock the door from the outside. But that was fine—Hermione had wasted no time kicking off her ankle restraints and untangling her wrists (sloppy knots were apparently Weasley's forte) and within ten minutes of the heavy door slamming behind her pirate contingency, she had been free of the gag as well.

She wasn't stupid enough to scream for help, knowing that no one who heard her would bother. Still, she did wonder if some of _The Stoutheart_'s crew was out there, for none of them had been tossed into the prison with her. It was most peculiar that they hadn't taken any other prisoners... Hermione's brain refused to venture into the more disturbing realm of possibility that the pirates had simply killed everyone else, instead.

Hermione made yet another circuit of the small, dimly lit room. She'd already scavenged everything useful and piled it on a broken table in the corner: two nails, a bent and rusty dagger, her restraint ropes, and a broken glass bottle. All in all, not a bad assortment of weapons, given her situation. She also still retained possession of an elegant blade tucked in her bodice, but she had determined to keep that hidden after the debacle with the pistols. Better to have one last trick up her sleeve if needed.

So she paced. And paced. If she'd counted correctly, one lap of the room took her approximately seventeen seconds, so she was attempting to track the passage of time accordingly. She sent a silent thank-you to the tutor who had felt that inquisitive little girls ought to be able to learn maths just as well as boys, for her ability to do mental sums was strongly in her favor just now. In fact, she had been trapped in this room for what she estimated to be just over eighty-two minutes and fourteen—

The door slammed open and Captain Snape's narrow frame was limned in the light pouring in behind him. "Come," he ordered, turning and exiting the room without waiting to see if she obeyed. She suspected that all his prisoners and likely all his crew, as well, obeyed without thought. He did have a commanding presence, and that voice! It was laden with authority. However, she was a lady and did not appreciate being ordered about. She was not technically a prisoner, either, as she had invoked her right to parlay. So she stood stoically by her little table, broken bottle in hand and hidden in her skirts. It was but a moment before the captain stood in the doorway once more. "Well? Come with me, you silly chit. We do not have all day."

Hermione threw her shoulders back as far as they would go and replied, "No."

"No?"

"_No_." Was it her imagination or did he seem vaguely amused? She wondered if anyone in this man's life ever bothered to tell him no. She guessed not. His assumption of her compliance made her all the more determined to dig in her heels.

Captain Snape stepped further into the hold, striding purposefully over to stand right in front of her. They studied one another for quite some time—Hermione counted forty-seven seconds—and then one of his eyebrows raised slowly. "Very well," he drawled. He placed both hands on her shoulders and began to slide them down her arms. Even through his gloves, Hermione imagined she could feel the heat of his skin. Goosebumps broke out over her flesh, whether in fear or something else she did not know. Had he decided to take her right here and now, as punishment for her defiance?

In the next instant, his hands found hers and he tossed her meager weapon to a dark corner; then she found herself lifted and tossed over his shoulder as he turned and strode for the door. "PUT ME DOWN!" she shrieked, beating his back with her fists and kicking her feet as much as possible. He locked her legs with an arm around her calves and shifted her so she dangled even lower behind him. She continued to hit him as hard as she could, anywhere she could reach, punctuating each blow with the vilest epithets she could imagine. "You beef-witted bounder! Clod-pated cad! You're a seducer of innocents! A scapegrace! Nothing better than the Devil's own by-blow! A vile betrayer to the King's Crown and all that is good!"

"That's _Captain _Vile Betrayer to you," he responded easily.

"Ooooh!" Hermione pummeled the backs of his legs uselessly. The captain barely even slowed when he carried her up the ladder onto the cabin deck and proceeded down the passageway. "I do _not _appreciate being carted about this way! According to the Code of the Brethren set forth by Morgan and Bartholomew, no harm is to come to the person who invokes the right of par—ah!"

Captain Snape dropped her unceremoniously onto the floor and began moving about the room, lighting candles and rolling up maps. "I see you are well-read. Such a pity—I never have cared for know-it-alls."

"How dare you—"

"Just because you can regurgitate information on a whim does not mean you understand that of which you speak." He faced her and clasped his hands behind his back. In the flickering candlelit, he looked sinister indeed. Then he began to lecture her in a manner that was reminiscent of her most hated tutor. "If you knew anything at all about the history of the Code of the Brethren, you would know that it was set forth primarily as guidance, not law. In fact, most pirates will not even honor the Code. You are quite lucky indeed that you were beset by one who does."

"Lucky? More like bloody well screwed if you ask me! I have been miserably mistreated from the moment—"

"Tsk, tsk, such language, Miss—what is your name?"

"As if I would tell the likes of _you_," Hermione spat.

"Have it your way. It matters not to me." Her captor shrugged and made one more circuit of the room. "I believe I have removed all potential weapons, so you may stay here for the duration of your time aboard _The Black Asphodel_. Meals will be delivered by my quartermaster as he is the least dunderheaded of my men and you will not be able to trick, deceive, overpower, or otherwise escape him. We make sail for the Caribbean in a matter of hours and I shall deposit you safely once we arrive."

"_Deposit _me—Wait! I wish to be returned to England!"

"Not possible. Now if you will excuse me I must direct my crew." He moved towards the door and Hermione's mind raced. She clearly was not going to be "deposited" back home, nor were the pirates headed for America; the crew and other passengers from _The Stoutheart _were nowhere to be seen. That meant she was stuck here for the time being, which also meant—

"Captain Snape!"

He paused at the door but did not face her. "What now, Miss Know-It-All?"

Hermione bristled at his nickname for her and his put-upon tone but had a more pressing mission at the moment. "I must have my trunk! Please, can it be fetched from _The Stoutheart_? The contents are of the utmost importance to me."

Now he did face her, and his features were full of contempt. "Cannot abide staying here without your abundance of pretty frocks, mm? No doubt a single one cost your poor father dearly. Sadly—" he did not look at all as though he was actually sad; in fact, he looked rather gleeful—"your ship is now limping back to shore. You may wave goodbye to your belongings."

Shocked, Hermione raced past him to the tiny window. She watched, horrified, as the captain's words were confirmed: _The Stoutheart _was indeed sailing away from the pirate ship as quickly as it could go, a handful of small fires still undulating on the decks.

"Noooo!" she cried, devastated. "My books!"

* * *

**A/N: The "That's Captain Vile Betrayer to you" line comes from Disney's Aladdin. :) Still not JKR but still enjoying using her characters. **


	5. Chapter 5

"Your...books?" Severus watched as his captive beat ineffectively against the thick glass of the window.

"Yes, you imbecile, my books! They're sailing away with all my favorite books!"

Severus gave his head a tiny shake, knowing he had heard her correctly but confused all the same. What sort of female packed her trunk full of _books_? Perhaps they were merely fashion plates, however. That made more sense based upon his experience with the fairer sex, and yet...his captive did not look at all the type to lie about and frivolously _ooh _and _aah _over silk and lace. If anything, she seemed more the type to start a crusade in the name of, oh, something ridiculous—such as equitable treatment for weavers or better wages for field laborers. She was certainly fierce, his captive. And extremely angry, judging by the things she was yelling at her retreating vessel.

He took the opportunity to study her. She was of slight frame and build, yet she _seemed_ to take up more space than in reality. She certainly had a presence, he would give her that. From the moment his men had found her, she had been nothing but trouble. Severus had no doubt that while Weasley's report of her escape tactics was exaggerated, it was nevertheless based in truth. His captive did not seem the type to sit back and allow herself to be taken without a fight. The bruise forming on Weasley's shin was proof of that.

Severus prided himself on his ability to retain details even after the briefest of glances; he had thought before that his captive had a pleasing figure and his assessment of her now only solidified that. The way she was leaning against the window calling for her books caused her dress to pull taut across her backside and Severus had a sudden desire to spank the feisty hellion until she submitted. He shook his head to clear the thought and tried to remember the front side of her.

He thought her eyes were perhaps brown or dark blue; her lips had thus far been pressed into disapproving lines but they were a pretty pink; her hair was a color he could best describe as medium and would have been rather nondescript but for the curls. It was certainly no exaggeration to say they were everywhere. Her hair had come unbound during their trip to his cabin and had he been a man given to fancy—which he most assuredly was not—he might have thought that her wild curls were fairly vibrating with fury when she spun to glare at him, ending his leisurely perusal of her person.

"You!" She marched towards him and stabbed his chest with one dainty finger. Severus quelled the urge to turn and flee. "You kept me here—like some kind of prisoner—when you didn't even sink my ship? Is anyone even _dead_?"

"As to that I cannot say," he replied carefully, relieved he had thought to check her for weapons down in the hold.

"Ah. So not only did you _not_ sink my ship, but you _also _did not purposefully harm anyone? Then tell me—why take me at all? There are plenty of other women aboard—"

"You were the only one to request parlay. Much to my burgeoning regret."

"The only... You—Oooh!" She stomped her foot and crossed her arms, which only served to press the tops of her breasts up against her décolletage. She noticed where his eyes had traveled because she immediately dropped her hands to her sides and clenched her fists. "What kind of terrible pirate are you? Did you even pillage or plunder anything?"

Severus raised both eyebrows at her question. He was amused by her ire and her apparent disregard for her own safety aboard a strange ship with an unknown pirate, but he did not want her to know that he was intrigued. "Do I look like someone who would debase himself by pillaging and plundering?" The expression on her face clearly said that _she _thought so, but the clever chit knew better than to answer him out loud. He rewarded her with a tap on her pert little nose and a murmured "Good girl" before strolling over to the window and watching _The Stoutheart _disappear into the night. "No, my little Miss Know-It-All, my purpose was merely to search your vessel. When that search did not yield what I was after, I fully intended to part ways with nary a memento—until my crew hauled you up onto the deck and announced that you wished to speak with me."

"Oh, and being the good-hearted pirate you are, I suppose you also didn't help yourself to some of the cargo?" his captive asked sarcastically.

He slanted a glance at her over his shoulder. "I can see nothing gets by you. We may have relieved your ship of some of her goods, my dear, but after all: pirate." He pointed to his chest, then returned his attention to the window. He allowed himself a grin as she muttered to herself, clearly aggravated with the way this had all played out. He also heard another few unflattering epithets directed at his back but he waited, giving the little spitfire a chance to calm herself. Any moment now...

She didn't disappoint. He heard her deep sigh and when she spoke, her tone was measured once again. "Very well. I am now headed to the Caribbean with you, and my possessions are headed back to England with _The Stoutheart_. I don't suppose you have some women's clothing on board? I will eventually need to change."

Her composure under duress was admirable. Another damnable point in her favor. He spun and strode back to her, only stopping once the hem of her dress brushed the tops of his boots. He watched intently, pleased as her eyes widened and her breathing grew shallower. He deliberately pitched his voice even lower than usual and spoke each word with the utmost care. "Have no worries, little Know-It-All. I shall personally ensure that all of your needs are...satisfied."

He half expected the harridan to slap him for his innuendo, but instead she merely gaped. Finally, he seemed to have landed on a tactic to silence her. He tucked that information away for their next encounter, and tried to ignore the stab of anticipation that the idea of said encounter brought forth. With two fingers he pressed her jaw closed, then made his way to the door. As he exited the room and locked the door he saw his quartermaster approaching. Nodding at the young man, he was prepared to stride off down the passageway, reveling in his verbal victory, until a crash on the other side of the door brought them both up short. His previous triumph was short-lived when his captive screamed through the thick wood, loud enough for Severus and his quartermaster and likely everyone else on deck to hear: "A man like you could _never _satisfy me, Captain Snape!"

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**A/N: Can we all safely agree that I am not JKR (even though I _do _love to write Severus and Hermione verbal banter) and do not need to continue to declare such from here on out? Yes? OK good! **


	6. Chapter 6

Severus repressed the urge to wince as his quartermaster aimed a smug look his way. "She sounds lovely," the young man drawled.

"She is a bloody nuisance," Severus replied, scrubbing a hand over his face. Then he straightened. "But she's your problem now. Do not allow her out of this room. She has already injured Weasley and escaped her bonds once."

His quartermaster snorted. "Injuring Weasley is hardly an accomplishment. The blighter injures himself on a near-daily basis."

"Be that as it may." Severus paused and considered the heavy wooden door, behind which was a suspicious silence. "Keep your wits about you."

The young man inclined his head and took up his post. "May I use excessive force?"

"I doubt that it will be necessary. We are only transporting the chit to Jamaica and then we shall unload her onto some foolhardy British sailor."

"Very well. I'll take that as a yes—if necessary."

Severus scowled at the gleam in the other's eye. "Do what you must to restrain her, but no serious harm is to come to her while she is aboard this vessel. After all—" he could see that his second in command was about to object "—you would not want it bandied about that the great Draco Malfoy was nearly bested by a slip of a female, would you? No. Best not engage her at all, then you will not have to defend yourself."

Satisfied that he had made his point, Severus dipped his head at the boy and made his way above deck. Malfoy was one of his best sailors but sometimes the young man's hubris was an obstacle. Severus had studied under the young man's father, and the apple did not fall far from the tree there. Captain Lucius Malfoy was an arrogant, condescending popinjay, but he had taken Severus under his bejeweled wing without hesitation and Severus would always be indebted to the man. He would have put up with the junior Malfoy on his vessel regardless—he owed it to Lucius—but it certainly helped that Draco was intelligent and good at what he did.

Arrogance notwithstanding.

Severus met his bosun, Kingsley Shacklebolt, on his way across the deck and listened to the man's report. All was in order for their voyage as he expected. He'd met Kingsley on a previous foray in the Caribbean and the man was beyond capable. _The Black Asphodel_ was due to sail for the Caribbean as soon as dawn broke, so Severus headed to his quartermaster's cabin to get some rest. He would need to be alert as they navigated their way out of British-patrolled waters. Pulling off his boots, he settled down into Malfoy's spare hammock and prepared for a few hours of sleep.

He was awakened from a _very _nice dream involving his captive—and where had that come from?—by the loud, angry arrival of Draco Malfoy.

"...last time I want to see _her _face, ought to send her to Davy Jones' locker, meddlesome bit of baggage..."

"Malfoy? What is the meaning of this? Why are you not at your post?" Severus swung his legs out of the hammock and rubbed a hand across his face. Surely he'd only slept for an hour, perhaps a little more? What trouble could the know-it-all possibly have caused?

"I'm abandoning that post and I don't care if you have to toss me in the brig for saying so. I detest that swotty little—"

"Enough, Draco. Who is watching her then?"

"Convinced Weasley to do it. He said no at first but he seemed interested enough when I offered to pay him, the greedy bounder."

Severus sighed as he bent to retrieve his boots. "And what will your dearest father say when you write him to ask for more funds, simply because you could not be bothered to do your duty?"

Draco crossed his arms petulantly. "My father would understand. That girl is a nightmare! The very worst sort—"

"Yes, yes, I heard you before. Very well. I suppose Mr. Shacklebolt can spare Weasley for the day." He stood and eyed Draco critically. "Although I hate to imagine the puffed-up sense of importance that will instill in Mr. Weasley."

Draco shrugged. "Won't work on me, Captain. She's the very devil and I won't go near her again." The boy pointed to a long gash in his coat. "Look, she cut my finest jacket!"

"How? I removed anything she might have used as a weapon before I left her in my room."

His quartermaster gave his characteristic pout and slouched his shoulders before answering. "Had a dagger hidden in her bodice," he mumbled.

Now the sequence of events began to make sense. Severus repressed a smile. Apparently the wily she-devil had offered his second in command a glimpse down her dress, only to pull her knife on him instead. She knew what she was about, he had to give her that. Severus rather thought it served Draco well but he would not say so to the boy's face. Malfoy was clearly already feeling embarrassed enough.

"I shall expect you back to your usual station within a quarter hour," Severus intoned as he left a sulking Malfoy to change his clothing. He headed for his own stateroom to ascertain that Weasley was in fact up to the task of containing their captive, and then he would take the helm as they sailed for the Caribbean. As he approached his cabin, however, he already knew what he would find there—or rather, not find.

"Where the bloody hell has she gone now?"

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**A/N: Sorry I've been a bit mean to Ron in this story. I do like him in canon, honestly! These past two chapters were a bit short as I've been trying to get back around to Hermione's POV. **


	7. Chapter 7

"I see it will be pointless to try and contain you," a voice said from beside her.

"I see you're smarter than I first gave you credit for," she retorted, slanting a glance over at the pirate captain. He stared pensively out at the sea, his hands resting near hers on the railing. Perhaps a bit too close—she let go and dropped her hands to her sides. He did not seem to notice or care. Instead of examining whether she felt relief or disappointment, she turned her gaze back to the sky. "It's beautiful," she whispered. Dawn was just breaking and she'd never seen anything so breathtaking. The colors mixed and mingled, the vibrant tones reflected more softly on the water. This was certainly turning out to be more than she'd imagined. Likely, if she'd remained on _The Stoutheart_, she would never have witnessed the sun rising over the ocean. In truth, if it wasn't for the whole "captive" aspect of this little sojourn, she could almost just sit back and enjoy the adventure.

Sighing, Hermione turned sideways and leant against the railing, studying the harsh profile of her captor. Judging by the lines on his face, Captain Snape was more prone to scowling than smiling, which Hermione could well believe. He ran this boat with an iron fist and she half found herself wanting to snap to attention whenever he was near. She watched him for a moment more, then sighed again and said, "You do not mean me any harm, do you?"

He looked at her, momentarily allowing his surprise to show. Then the implacable mask was back in place. "No, I do not. As I said before, we will deposit you safely in Jamaica." He mumbled the next bit but Hermione still heard "The sooner the better."

Choosing to ignore his dismal attitude, Hermione straightened. "Excellent. Since you do not intend to ravish me or make me walk the plank, might I be allowed my freedom on board? I shall promise not to cause any more trouble as long as I am not confined."

"The little bird does not care to have her wings clipped, mmm?" He, too, straightened and turned towards her. "Very well. But I must insist that you turn over any remaining weapons you possess." He eyed her up and down distrustfully.

"I suppose that would be acceptable."

"And you are not to distract my crew from their duties."

"Also fine."

"You will obey my commands without question."

"That I cannot do." Hermione frowned at him.

"It is a matter of safety. If we encounter storms or other ships I need to know that you will do as I say."

"Hmm. 'Obeying your commands' seems rather ambiguous, don't you agree?"

Captain Snape frowned back at her. "Stop being ridiculous. If I tell you to take cover underdeck then you need to take cover! Immediately!" He seemed to realize that his voice had risen, because he glanced around at the deck before speaking in a more moderated tone. "Again, it is a simple matter of safety. I cannot allow harm to come to you while you are my responsibility."

"Why, Captain Snape, I didn't know you cared for me!" Hermione batted her eyes at him exaggeratedly, placing a hand over her heart. Then she sombered. "I suppose I can agree to follow your direction when warranted. Will that do?"

He snorted derisively. "Hardly. And yet I doubt that I shall be able to get much more out of you."

Now she grinned at him. "Very true. How astute of you to realize that. My father has known me my entire life and yet _he_ thought it would be in my best interest to marry me off to a man I do not even know—" Hermione broke off and looked away, embarrassed. The pirate captain didn't care about her circumstances. And besides, her fate was hardly different from any other lady of her class. It was just the way things were done.

Still, Hermione would have appreciated _some _say in the choice. What if her husband did not care for books? Or never wished to see her and speak with her except at mealtimes? Life would be unbearable. She was hardly a social butterfly, but she did prefer _some _interaction. And if her chosen husband could be a man who was well-educated, and perhaps with a large library of books that he'd actually read, and if he enjoyed engaging in intellectual debates with her—well, then, she imagined she could be relatively happy to be leg-shackled, as the saying went.

Her maudlin train of thoughts was interrupted when a work-roughened hand gripped her chin firmly and tilted her head up to face the captain. "Only a fool would attempt to constrain you," he stated. Hermione's skin broke out in goosebumps and she stared into those black, black eyes, entranced. Did he...it was almost as if...but no, he couldn't have sounded _admiring_, could he?

No. She was just being foolish. Letting her imagination run away from her. She jerked her chin out of his grasp and tried to quell her body's confusing response to his authoritative presence. "And you're no fool, are you, Captain Snape?" she asked boldly. After all, he had agreed to allow her freedom to roam his ship.

"I do try not to be," he intoned, and then he was striding off, back to his duties. He did pause to call over his shoulder, however: "Oh, and I shan't ravish you—unless you ask me to."

* * *

**A/N: Took a bit of a breather from this story but I'm coming back around to it now-more to follow (hopefully) soon. I do believe that I love witty Hermione/Snape banter the most of anything, ever. **


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